Girl, Serpent, Thorn(86)

Again, Soraya didn’t protest while the attendants performed rituals that would ordinarily be performed in the bathhouse the day before a wedding ceremony. And as they scrubbed the dead skin off of her with a rough stone and shaped her eyebrows using threads, she realized with begrudging acceptance that she didn’t want to protest. Her mother and Laleh would have been used to these ministrations, but no one had ever braided Soraya’s hair or painted her face. Not even her mother had ever been able to do this for her.

Azad would have known that, of course. He was once again offering her something that her family had never been able to give her—a reminder that she should choose him over them. But there was one thing he hadn’t foreseen, one element that spoiled the relaxation of being pampered. Whenever she looked at her attendants, their eyes quickly dropped, but Soraya still saw the traces of fear and resentment in them. They were not here by choice, and they would not forget that fact, even if Soraya could. Did they recognize her? Did they think she had joined the Shahmar willingly? If so, then they must hate her. Their hands were gentle, but their eyes were as sharp as thorns.

Another meal, and then the seamstress returned with the gown. Once the gown was on, Soraya couldn’t stop herself from asking the spotted div, “Could you bring me a mirror? Just for a short time?”

The div considered this, then nodded. She guided the seamstress away and returned several minutes later carrying a full-length mirror.

Once the div set down the mirror, Soraya walked up to it, hands trembling in anticipation. This was the first time she would see herself since lifting her curse, the first time she would see her face unmarred by a web of veins waiting to spread.

In the mirror was a young woman in a dress that fit her perfectly, her hair braided with jewels, her eyes rimmed with kohl. Soraya wanted to hate the sight of herself—but she couldn’t. She looked more like her mother now, the promise of her poise and beauty finally fulfilled. She looked like the queen that Laleh should have been. She looked like everything that had ever been taken from her. This was who she would have been if she had never been cursed.

And as the leopard-spotted div drew her away from the mirror and led her out of the room, Soraya wondered—what would she do if Parvaneh didn’t return in time? What would she allow herself to become?





28


Soraya stepped into the shade of the ayvan, shielding her eyes as she looked out into the garden. She could recognize some of the divs gathered there—Nasu was the first to catch her eye, but she noticed others who seemed familiar to her from Arzur. Interspersed among them were members of court, glancing nervously around them. Did they know what this gathering was for? Did they regret buying their freedom in exchange for accepting Azad as shah? Soraya supposed she should have felt disdain for them, but she was in no position to judge their self-preservation, and mostly she hoped they wouldn’t all die tonight because of her.

Kneeling at the head of the steps were three bowed figures, their hands tied behind their waists. First Sorush, then Laleh, and then Tahmineh, their backs all to her. Soraya’s eyes locked on them immediately, so intently that she didn’t notice when a long shadow removed itself from the wall and came to her side.

“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined you would be,” Azad whispered in her ear. “You look like a queen already.”

Soraya looked up at him and forced a smile. “It’s a beautiful gown, but executions are messy, and it would be a shame to spoil it. I should go back and change.”

He brushed one knuckle against her cheek. “Soraya, the only thing that could make you more beautiful to me than you are now is to see you covered in that young man’s blood.”

She had no response to that.

He took her hand and led her to the head of the steps until they were standing beside the bound figures of her loved ones. Azad had chosen the position carefully—from here, Sorush’s blood would run red down the white marble stairs.

“Tonight, you shall have a queen,” Azad called out to the crowd. “But first, you will have blood.”

The divs cheered at this, while the humans in the crowd all looked faintly ill. Soraya kept her eyes on them, not yet ready to see how the three figures beside her were looking at her. Did they think she had agreed to this? Could she blame them if they did?

Azad drew a sword from his side and wrapped Soraya’s hand around its handle. “Soon it will be finished,” he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear. “It will be easier than you think.”

She turned, sword in hand, to look down at her brother’s hunched form. She could still hear his vicious words from the throne room, and she had been afraid of what she would find in his eyes now. But she hadn’t expected that he wouldn’t look at her at all. He kept his gaze straight ahead, his spine as straight as his bindings would allow. He would die a king.

Beyond him, Laleh wasn’t looking at her, either, because her eyes were too full of tears, her head bowed so she wouldn’t have to witness Sorush’s death. But why wouldn’t Sorush look at her? Why wouldn’t he look up and see if she had some hidden message for him, some silent reassurance that all would be well? Soraya’s grip tightened on the sword handle. This was what he had always done—turned away from her when the sight was too difficult to acknowledge, or when it would damage the royal image he wanted to project. He had known how unhappy she had been, and yet he had done nothing to help her. Again, Soraya found Nasu in the crowd, and as their eyes met, Nasu gave her a small nod of approval.